


The Queen's Cathedral

by RoseoftheBrightSea



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Númenor, Second Age, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 15:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseoftheBrightSea/pseuds/RoseoftheBrightSea
Summary: Celebrían and Galadriel visit Vinyalondë. Mainly a bit of worldbuilding about what religious institutions might look like in Middle-Earth.





	The Queen's Cathedral

**Author's Note:**

> Cathedral is the wrong word, but temple felt even more off. *shrugs*

There was a small chapel in Ost-in-Edhil, tucked inconspicuously between the marketplace and the eastern gate. It had been built just a few decades ago and went rarely used, except for passing Númenórean merchants or the rare devout dignitary. Celebrían never thought much of the building. She’d looked inside once, out of curiosity, and had been disappointed by the plain, tan walls and the dull-eyed priest. To serve in Ost-in-Edhil, she supposed, was hardly to serve at all. The more devout priests were probably still in Armenelos or the other large cities in Númenor. Celebrían figured the priests had larger congregations there in the origin of their order.

Larger congregations. Celebrían almost laughed at her naivety. She had pictured a few dozen men circled around a single priest. Vinyalondë quashed that illusion quickly enough. 

 _How did they build this so quickly?_ Celebrían wondered, following her mother and the priestess down the cathedral’s central balcony. The city was only thirty years old, yet already, Arandil had constructed an architectural triumph at its center. The domed ceilings were intricately painted, depicting an abstract rendition of the _Ainulindalë_. Sunlight poured in through the stained glass, causing bright colors to dance across the aisles. At least a thousand worshipers could find a seat, Celebrían guessed, probably more.

The priestess’s garb was no less impressive. She wore thick velvet robes, dyed a deep blue and intricately embroidered with silver to depict the constellations. Her hair was pulled back in tight braids. Thin, silver chains threaded through each braid, and a few were further decorated with diamonds and sapphires. She put even Celebrimbor, with his heavy rings and jeweled necklaces, to shame. 

The priestess continued her formalities. Galadriel smiled and nodded politely as the woman went on about how honored the priesthood was to host one of the Eldar, who had once dwelt beside the Valar. Celebrían saw her mother shift uncomfortably from time to time. However, if the priestess questioned Galadriel’s judgement for leaving Aman, she did not show it. The priestess was a round woman with an affable smile and, unlike most of the Númenóreans Celebrían had met, perfectly comfortable to prattle on in front of her elven guests. 

“Here, you can see Queen Varda the Kindler fashioning the stars,” the priestess said, pointing to a strange, dark blue shape surrounded by white stars. “Our artists took great care to depict her essence without infringing upon her majesty’s image.”

“I am certain Elbereth admires your work,” Galadriel said softly.

Celebrían bit down on her bottom lip as the priestess puffed her chest forward with pride, afraid her smile might cause offense. It was a strange point of pride among the Númenóreans that they not directly depict the Valar. Galadriel and Celebrimbor had offered to guide their artists in a proper resemblance, but the priests rebuked them, claiming it would be disrespectful to paint that which they were forbidden to see. All arguments to the contrary fell on deaf ears. Only the face of Ulmo, Lord of Waters, could be drawn by mortal hands.

“Are you a priest of Varda?” Celebrían asked, motioning at the woman’s robes.

The priestess frowned slightly and shook her head. “All priests are of Eru Ilúvatar, child.”

Celebrían bit back a retort. She was older than Tar-Meneldur by far, not a child, even by her own people’s standards. Still, Arandil had warned her about the patronizing nature of priests. It was in their blood, he claimed. The priest in Ost-in-Edhil did not suffer from that particular affliction, although Celebrían supposed there was very little priestly instinct in that man.

“Many dedicate themselves to an individual Vala’s ideals, no?” Galadriel offered.

“Oh, of course! I swore my oaths during Queen Varda’s hour, it is true,” the priestess said. “

That was a superstition Celebrían struggled to find any basis for. Númenórean priests claimed that a Vala’s power heightened during certain hours of the day. It was best to pray to Manwë at noon, when the sun reached the highest point in the sky. For prayers to Oromë, dawn was best, who was followed by Vána, and then Yavanna. Only they weren’t really prayers to the Valar, as the priestess explained.

“Ilúvatar the All High receives all prayers through his divine servants,” she said. “The priesthood’s individual sects do not imply disruption in the whole. No, rather, we seek to clarify the many aspects of the One.”

Celebrían glanced at her mother. _I get the feeling she likes you more than me._

 _Can you blame her?_ Galadriel thought with a wry smile. The priestess’s back was turned out towards the main foyer, keeping Galadriel’s serious reputation in place. _I_ was _born in Varda’s own mansion._

 _Because there was a puny fire in King Ingwë’s palace,_ Celebrían countered. At least that was how the story went. A pregnant Eärwen ushered out of the High King’s mansion by a paranoid husband and his grandfather, after an absent-minded servant set a pile of washing too close to a hearth.

Celebrían felt quite proud as Galadriel’s lips twisted in her attempt to keep from laughing. The priestess glanced back at them, and Celebrían smiled innocently, blinking twice for good measure.

“Do all priests abandon their names upon swearing their vows?” Galadriel asked, her expression already back to its default stoicism.

“No, most keep their names,” the priestess said. Celebrían thought it terribly unfair that she alone received the woman’s suspicious glance. “Only those who deliver sermons go nameless. A small price to pay for spreading Ilúvatar’s glory.”

“Oh?” Celebrían hadn’t expected that. “What does the rest of the priesthood do, then?”

“Many serve as scribes and advisors for the royal or noble houses. Others run schools and orphanages, and others still manage the priesthood’s gardens and vineyards.” The priestess shrugged casually. “There are many types of priests.”

“Can you marry?” Celebrían asked. She knew the holy monks of Harad swore themselves to celibacy, but Balchoth priests could have up to three wives. The Secondborn were fond of their inconsistencies, she’d discovered.

“To others in the priesthood,” the priestess answered. “And if one’s duties permit it.”

Celebrían decided to ask Arandil if he had a priest she could interrogate the next time they were together. She had the feeling that the priestess thought herself far too important for such questions, even if the woman did smile patiently while answering.

“That sounds very romantic,” Celebrían muttered dryly. It was quiet enough that the priestess did not hear, though Galadriel shot her a disapproving, if amused, look.

A few other priests scurried below, each dressed in different colors to signify their patron among the Valar. Besides Varda, Celebrían only knew who three of the colors represented. Lilac for Irmo, light blue for Manwë, and black for Mandos. 

 _Maybe they’re all just stereotypes,_ Celebrían mused to herself. The robes were stunning, though. If she wasn’t so certain it would be considered sacrilegious, Celebrían would have asked to trade for one. 

She turned back to the pseudo-image of Varda, admiring the artist’s creativity. It was a spiraling design, probably meant to signify the infinite nature of the Valar, branching off in several directions, yet always returning to itself. Celebrían tried to memorize the pattern, wondering if it was a repeating image or the particular design of one painter.

 _Do you think Elbereth actually appreciate all of this?_ She asked her mother silently.

Galadriel was leaning against the balcony’s railing, listening dutifully to the priestess’s history lecture on the Númenórean priesthood. She tilted her head to the side, an indication she was considering Celebrían’s question. 

 _I am sure Varda is… flattered,_ Galadriel thought slowly. _More than anything, though, I’m sure she finds this rather entertaining. I can hear her joking about how wise Men are to know her beauty is beyond depiction._

Celebrían smiled. _Well, we’ll have Ada draw her when we get back. That ought to humble our beloved Queen of the Valar._

**Author's Note:**

> Did I create a fictional religious custom to get out of naming an OC? Yes, yes I did.
> 
> Tolkien never talks about non-Morgoth in-world religious institutions, but I was thinking they had to exist, right? Especially in early Númenor? Anyway, this is a result of that thought. Along with how differently elves (especially Eldar) and men must've thought of the Valar.


End file.
